Torn Heart and Shadowed Emotions

      

Christmas break is coming to a close, as tomorrow is the first day of 2021, and school starts back up on the following Monday.  It came and left too fast.  In the last year, I have learned to enjoy the little time I spend with my family.  Unlike when I first moved to Browning, I find myself almost yearning to stay.  Not for the sake of my hometown, but for the few individuals that live there.    Coming to visit for the holiday, I didn’t realize how much I missed them.  It’s easy to forget feelings when there is a chasm of one’s presence.  To flee the pain, we just bury the triggers that cause the cuts.  Even if the cuts are meant to heal.  As I said before...staying in Browning, I didn’t realize how much I missed my parents and little brother.  But after spending a little time and having to come back home, I have felt the tears come and go.  Wishing that I didn’t have to be separated, I wonder if there is a way to not have my heart break.  Again. In the first few years of being on the Rez (with the exception of the first year), I used to cry because of the disconnectedness of my family.  I didn’t even want to go back!  Though I would come visit, we still would be in separate rooms, watching whatever would entertain us.  But now… Now, I have learned that I can love my family where they are, and still enjoy their company.  (That’s how it ends up working, doesn’t it?  Not necessarily the situation or other person changes, but we ourselves, do.)    I find myself seeing how we are now, and reminiscing what things could have been like, if I still lived at home, but with the present mentality.  All those years, suffering silently, wishing things could have been different, not realizing how much things would change in 10-15 years later.  There is a blessing in remembering the past, and yet, there is a grieving that things aren’t the way that they were (i.e. living at home with my parents.) I don’t miss the fights or the distant communication.  However, presently, I know that my mother indeed cares about me.  I wish I could be with her and laugh.  My baby brother is not a baby anymore.  And as adults, we have really cool conversations.  Of course (as always), I miss my father’s hugs.  Yet, I am not meant to be with them, physically.  It was a vacation; not a move-in.  Doesn’t make the tearing any less painful.  To know that I must be in one place, but miss being in another place makes departure harder.  I feel torn, and wondering where I should be.  Ironically - and it may be due to COVID - I felt a distancing from individuals in Browning.  The connectedness I’ve had with people, the community or my church is slowly waning.  Some of the relationships have stayed stable.  Nonetheless, I felt I was given a word that I would be on the Blackfeet Reservation for only seven years.  It will be seven years in August of 2021.  A part of me feels ready to move on - COVID has made everyone sheltered, and I am ready to spring out.  A foxhole, though safe, can also be suffocating.  However, over the course of this last year, I have found that I was involved in ministry with a personal motivation to find affirmation.  God has been wanting me to strip old dead snake skins, and for some reason (my own stupid pride), I am still wrestling with the concept that my story isn’t about me.  There has been a shift that I am tired of the masks or facades I have kept up.  And yet, in my pain of leaving my parents’ home, I found myself putting those old skins on.  Because of the pain, I would rather just watch things not essentially.  Veg out.  Distract myself from pouring out the tears, because it hurts too much to admit that I feel split.  I should want to be here.  But a part of me still wants to be there.  But I should want to be here. I’ve learned to not act as tough as I used to, but admitting my wounds...Well, I still hide them.  Maybe old habits die hard.  I learned that I shouldn’t cry.  If there was something wrong, my parents (God bless their hearts) were trying to find ways to fix what was wrong.  This is a wide breadth of what the circumstances looked like, however, I learned to cope with my pain.  Sadness is uncomfortable, and to this day I hate the feeling of it.  I become concerned that I will become depressed.  And yet, watching random Youtube videos is a form of functioning depression when used to escape the reality of my world and the emotions that sometimes come with it.  My mind is convinced that if I just veg out for a few, then I can pick myself up.  Nevertheless, leave me alone with silence and the hurts can return.  The pain still lingers, because I didn’t let myself cry, not even for a little bit.  Paradoxically, one of the things I watched yesterday addressed this matter: “Pain is the cost of love...And we would not appreciate what joy is if we do not know what sadness is.”  So much of our American culture is about being the strong man and laying down our feelings, because we should “lack needs”.  We are the first to try to fix things that are wrong.  But healing doesn’t necessarily come with immediacy.  Even in the book of Ecclesiastes, Solomon wrote, “There is a season to mourn, and a season to rejoice.”  I am in an odd position where I can look back on what God has done, but I find a yearning for the former things.  I’m sure I’ll be fine by the time school begins.  Things will get busy, and my mind will be back at work.  This journey will continue, as something God is pressing on my heart is purpose, and how I shouldn’t find it in doing things, but rather in Him, as is.  You see, part of the comfort I relish in, being separated from my family, is being too busy to focus on their absence.  As of Monday, I can shove these emotions under the rug.  I’m trying to be okay.  Not sink into despair, yet simultaneously acknowledge what my mind and where my thoughts go.  As long as I try to find methods to run away, I am failing to address the things that God wants to unravel in me.  As long as I allow my heart to hide all the emotions that well up in my soul; as long as I find ways to numb in the name of coping, my scabs will cover the things that need to be undone.  But changes are harder than the blueprint.  To get to the path of healing and wholeness, I must walk through some uncomfortable things.  God’s question to me: “Are you willing, or are you going to continue to find other substitutes?”  Sigh…  One step at a time, shall we?

The Shepherd for the Lambs

      (References: Psalms 23; Isaiah 53:5-6, 9, 11; John 10:1-11; 20:1-10)

     Psalm 23 is one of those passages from Scripture that if not careful, is easy to pass over.  Almost every kid in a Christian home will have memorized the psalm, so because the words are familiar, the meaning may be lost at first glance.  So, when I came across this passage for devotions one morning, I knew I needed to pause and ask God to help me look beyond what I already knew.
     The first few verses made me reflect on this past year.  I have revolved so much about me, and in the last several months, it is as if God has been remaking me, putting me in a fire to burn away all the dead things in me.  This story of my life has never been about me.  It is about God, and His glory.  Then there was verse five.  "You anoint my head with oil..."
     Cue long pause.
     I don't deserve my head to be anointed.  Maybe that's the point, though.  I am not worthy.  I have transgressed.  I have iniquity in my history.  I have aimed to find my own peace and healing - and tried to prove my own goodness as a Christian, and that's where I lost it.  But Jesus died for me.  He made His bed with the wicked (see Isaiah 53), so that I could become a child of God.
     I am reminded of the two disciples that ran to His tomb after the news of His resurrection.  One was the most loyal and faithful - the one who stood at the feet of Jesus as He was nailed and bloodied on a tree.  The other could be considered (after Judas) to be the most faithless; betraying his association in the hour of need.  I am not like John.  I wish I was.  I am more like Peter.  And yet, even in his brokenness, he ran to Jesus. 
     I realize that I have pressed God into a corner.  Or I forbade Him to come to a part of the house (ain't that easy to do?).  But I can't do it, anymore.  Peter did the same thing.  Actually, all the disciples did.  But Jesus died so our sin would not define us.  He died to free us and bring glory to the Father.  
     I was wondering what Christmas would mean for me, this year.  Sometimes, as familiar verses, it can become rhetoric and ritualistic.  But now I am reminded that I am a lamb who needs constant guidance and course correction.  I have been broken and need restoration.  However, no matter what I can do, I am still marked.  And yet...the Shepherd who cares for me thought it fitting to die in my place.  The Shepherd's life for His lambs.
   
     There is born to you this day in the city of David, a Savior, Christ the Lord.  Behold the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world!
    

I, Judgmental and Hypocrite

     Where do I begin?  I am so smart.  I didn’t realize I have been such a fool.     If you asked me last year, where my relationship was with God, I would have said that life isn’t perfect, but I’m increasingly growing.  It’s the end of 2020, and I wonder if I ever was as close to God as I portrayed myself to being.  There is so much hidden.  Many thoughts, feelings, fears, insecurities.  I will cry when crisis occurs, but I’ll make sure to not let anyone see.  Except for God.  I know He sees everything, anyway.   But somewhere, going about this Jesus thing, I forgot that it’s about Jesus. Publicly, I have shown a spiritual strength, but I dare not admit the things that plague my subconscious. I made my faith and ministry about me, and would any of you know?  I played it well, too. Always active in church; arriving early, even.  First one to volunteer.  Avid reader of the Word...never miss a day.  I can talk in depth about spiritual matters and have the ability to teach others what it means to be a Christian.  I wonder how many of you think I have it all together. Far from the truth.  I know what’s right, yet, there is a part of me that still does wrong.  When my strength is waning, I am prone to vegetate, because I just want to escape my pain.  I can tell teenagers as much as I want, “Don’t do drugs!  Alcohol is not the answer!”  Yet, here I am at home, finding my own fix.  Draining my brain watching mindless things, rather than giving my burdens to God.  What makes me different from them? The eager volunteer.  Maybe the first or second to sign up.  In part, I do care about the people I have served.  However, if a person’s response is to not take hold of the wisdom I share, or my name is not mentioned when thanks is being given, I am crushed.  I’ll pour in as long as I see that I have use in another’s life.  When I don’t receive the accolades, I am tempted to sign the individual off (or whine about what I am doing wrong).  This year, my heart has been burned.  The fires that have touched the closest have burned the masks I have worn . God only knows for how long.  Perpetuating a sense of godliness, but in the shadows I wallow the same as any other.  This isn’t to say that Christians aren’t supposed to struggle or suffer.  The Bible promises we will have trials.  Nevertheless, my pride...my stupid pride prevents me from becoming truly vulnerable, asking for help, and admitting my faults.   Or...as my extroverted self plainly reminds me - I will ask a few people for help, but fail to trust God through it all.  I want support in my life, but I fail to surrender.  I want the hand of my friends, and buffer my own might to get myself through.  Done it my whole life.  But I’m coming to a point, I can’t do it anymore.  I don’t want to do it anymore. I am tired of portraying a sense of strength.  Easily pointing out what can be wrong in my neighbor’s life, but failing to fully address the planks in my own eyes.  I have realized that I am no different from those I walk with every day.  I tried to be good.  Perfect, in fact.  Never reached that point, however.  I convinced myself that my actions prove my loyalty to Jesus, but my motives are only “just”, as long as I am recognized.  I am not recognized.   I am not good.  An air of holiness, covered with a stench of my own sin.  I am selfish.  Feeding my ego, fighting a life-long battle against fears of worthlessness.  The irony of self-esteem is that I esteem myself.  I don’t think it’s wrong to remind people that God indeed loves and cares for us.  However, I am finding that if my substance is based on how I feel about myself, I am still worshipping myself.   I have worshipped myself.  Sure, I have sung songs in church and raised my hand.  However, throughout the week, my needs and desires must be met.  And I have found ways to do that.  I can hide it, too.  Because in the normative culture, we wouldn’t consider it destructive.  Nevertheless, somewhere in my walk with God, I have forgotten Him.  Kissing His feet, but still holding hands with other lovers.  All in an effort to make myself feel good.  But I’m not always given what I want.  So, I don’t always feel good.   I can’t tell you where this shift began.  I remember being excited about God, Himself.  I wanted my community to know about Jesus, and I took advantage of the hidden hours and rooms to chase after Him and His heart.  Yet, 2020 has plainly revealed the beast I have kept hidden.  The more I have walked with God, the more He reveals the ugly things that have always been in my heart.  A child doesn’t have to be taught to be selfish.  A child doesn’t have to be taught how to shift blame upon another person, to dissuade from acknowledging their own wrong.  A child doesn’t have to be taught to seek their own. I have sought for my own.  It’s out in the open.  I no longer can hide it.  I made my faith about me.  My faith was in me.  Sure, Jesus is my Savior.  What the heck does that even mean?  When storms come, I wrestle to hold onto my nets, and cry in anger when they are taken away.  I suddenly believe that I am alone, and I am broken because I don’t have anything to cling onto.  All the while, God is wanting me to cling solely to Him.   I cannot lie to myself, anymore.  I’m done playing a façade of spiritual strength, when in truth, there are parts of me that crumble at the seams.  My intellect is not a match for the reality of my heart, and even in this moment, I wonder where my soul may lay.  I am broken over the fact that I believed I walked in the authority of a King without allowing Him to be Lord of every part of my life. 

I’m so sorry, God.  I’m so sorry.  I never thought I was prone to wander, but now I clearly see it!  And it hurts me so!  How did I make You about me, when I was created to glorify You?  How did I excuse my wrong, thinking that the means justified the ends?  What do I really believe?  I fear the answer may not be what I have professed.  And yet, God, do not let this state be my end. I recognize belief systems that do not align according to Your words, and I need help figuring it all out.  I need to know what I do that is done by habit, and I need it broken.  I admit that I can’t do it.  I’m not strong enough.

     Boy, there is so much freedom in saying that.  All my life, I wanted to make sure I was strong enough.  I never wanted to be weak.  But that’s what I am.  I can’t do it, God.  Not anymore.  I’m through with hiding the secret things, trying to handle them myself.  I’m done trying to patch up my own wounds.  I’m done running away from my fears and trying to manage my life.  I’ve done one heck of a job, haven’t I?  If I could make myself whole, I would have already done it.  But I can’t.  So here I am.

     I’m done making my life be about me.  I’m done turning Your words into a mere moral compass.  Be my North Star.  I admit...I wish for a purpose.  Doesn’t anyone?  But I am finding that when I glorify myself, I become separated from Your presence.  Frankly, I act with immediate instinct, but when I pause long enough, I know I don’t want to be separated from You.  Not now, and certainly not ever.  Bring me back to You.  In the words of Maroon 5 (and I laugh to myself, as I write this), “Maybe it’s 6:45.  Maybe, I’m barely alive...Maybe, I know that You are the one.  Maybe, I think it’s time for You to drive.”  

     Yeah.  That’s it.

Save My Soul

I will never be good enough;
I will never be strong enough;
I will never be just enough
For heaven's throne.

I will never be perfect enough;
I will never be shameless enough;
I will never be innocent enough
For heaven's throne.

I will never be blameless enough;
I will never be whole enough;
I will never be beautiful enough
For heaven's throne.

However,
Not by my might,
Not by power,
But by His Spirit
Will save my soul.

No greater love 
Has the world seen
Than He who laid down
His life for His friends.
And You call me friend.

I was buried in my blood,
But You cleansed me.
You clothed me in brilliance
And adorned me with Your glory.
Whatever beauty I have is Your splendor.

You did not reject me.
I...hated the mirror.
I...believed the lies.
I...bought into the arguments.

I stole the gift
You gave and gave it
To lovers unfit for judging
My worth according to
Your word; I scattered from
Its truth.  Forgive me, Lord.
I will let You love me.

My sin weighs me down.
What goodness
I could prove
Is naught before Your presence.

However,
It is not by my might,
Not by power,
But by Your Spirit
That saves my soul.

Jesus, You save my soul.

This Adulterous Heart

I have hurts and wounds Leaving me broken. I have hidden secrets Meant to be mend; Independently Strength portrayed in the light, However, in the unseen hours, There are weaknesses  I dare not reveal.

Yet, I desire in the deepest

Uttermost of my being,

To bare my soul to another.

Yet, I find none willing

To bear my soul

Unconditionally.  

Gomer has forgotten

Her Beloved, 

Once again.  

I have proclaimed things

I have found I didn’t believe.

I have advocated

When I didn’t fully receive.

I bury my pain

In the name of greater glory

Of serving thine neighbor.

I dare carry those who struggle;

I will bear them,

But I dare not admit

I fight the same battles as they.  

Shadows cower the hopelessness

I shudder to confess.

How can You be here,

And yet so far away?

My body wishes to see

Your face and feel Your touch.

I would not wander

If You were near.

So I say.  

There are lies that even my own

Mind failed to recognize.

My spirit knows You are truth,

But my heart fails to trust You.

In public, I will gladly hold Your hand,

In the midst of week’s waiting,

My sorrow weakens me for the yearning

Solicited and wakened by emotions

Dormant in the light of time 

When things can be seen.

Dare I admit that I wish 

My soul could become naked?

My Hosea, You say I can with You.

In the quiet of the night,

I feel a weight I cannot bear;

I hear nothing but my own words -

Your words have started to fall flat.

A song is a mere tune.

I long to be loved and held.

In my discouragement and weariness,

I fail to run to You.

I am weak. I have needs.

Seeking for a quick solution,

I am prone to run after

Other lovers -

Worship idols -

To the demise of my own heart,

And to the breaking of Yours.

I have walked by sight

Far too long.

Help me 

To live 

By faith,

Continually.

Redeem this adulterous heart.

I know You love me.

Quicken the gap of separation;

I want to receive You,

My love.

Pride's Fear

     

 Actions speak louder than words.  But sometimes, actions aren’t enough.  If portrayed well, they can hide the motives by which they are committed.  I know that I believe in Jesus.  I know I have sinned and in need of a Savior, but somewhere and somehow, I have forgotten along the way.  Guess that is the danger of walking with Jesus most of your life.  You get good at it, so your sins don’t look too much.  Actually, they don’t look like sins at all; just merely, a personality flaw.  Success lays the foundation of confidence, but beware, lest one falls thinking that confidence is grounded in your own ability and effort.   I asked Facebook World that if any Christians dared, to share what Jesus had saved them from.  I wanted to hear the raw stories of redemption, explicitly stating that I didn’t want any canned (i.e. general) statements of, “my sins” or “from myself.”  The irony about asking such a question is that I, myself, was stumped.  What has Jesus saved me from?  My story is not a black and white transformation.  And in the 17 years of following Him, I could say there are areas that I’m doing good.  There are also areas where I have issues undealt with.  Over the course of this year, I have come to the realization that I have forgotten to live by grace. A part of me wonders if I learned how to truly receive it at all.  I grew up in church.  I know that God loves me, and I don’t have to earn it.  But after all these years, there remains a disconnect.  I cower in condemnation when I have wronged someone.  The minor unhealthy habits I do admit, secretly (such as vegging on Facebook or Youtube) or are shrugged away as a habit I want to kick, but I like it too much.  At least, I’m not doing drugs or drinking.     Intercession comes easily, for me, as I see the brokenness of my community.  I know how to pray, and I know what needs to be done as I have studied my Word, and fully understand that the thing my people are seeking can be found in Jesus.  But I have forgotten that on a personal level.  I’m learning to trust God for my circumstances, again, but this resting in His absolute grace has been a hurdle I have never quite grasped in my life. I still seek my glory.  I still yearn for the affirmation of men, though I know I should fear God.  I long to be loved.  I fear that my value has been diminished by what I have failed to do or what I was unable to do.  I struggle to worship God in spirit and truth, because I want my spirit to be magnified.   Yikes!  Yes, I realize how that confession sounds.  I have struggled with my self-worth for my entire life.  Even as a child, I sought to prove my strength.  The issues range across the board, and each individual subject could have their own blog-post: my conception, living with a disability, failure as daughter, body image, personality differences, human error, and personal convictions.  At multiple points in my life, I found that I was found wanting.  I was not good enough.  I tried and tried.  But don’t you fret.  I aim to do my best, still.  And yet, sometimes by the end of the day, I am still not enough.  My best was not good enough. Nevertheless, onward I must go.  I can’t sulk.  That won’t get me anywhere.  Plus, I learned that being selfish wasn’t a good thing, so I turned my attention outward.  Ergo, the open door to walk as a prideful, judgmental, modern-day Pharisee.  I genuinely care for the people whom I was given charge.  And yet, the manner in which I conducted myself as a response to situations as they came were not consistently gracious.  There is one girl I was the toughest on.  Partly because, she kept saying that she was dealing with the same problem and wanted help, but wouldn’t take any given advice.  Partly because, despite our family stories differing, the issues we faced were uncannily similar.   It’s easy to point out what’s wrong in someone else’s life, yet fail to address your own.  Chop up the logs in your neighbor’s yard to make sure they aren’t barricaded, but you fail to realize you have to climb over your own wall just to assist them in their yard.  Something like that in Matthew 7.  It’s a form of Christian patronizm, coupled with American patriotism.  Since good Christians are able to be independent and stand sure in Christ, we help others in their brokenness.  All the while, we don’t let others know about the things we personally face.  It is pride clothed in charity.  I am guilty of it all.  I don’t want to admit that there are areas in my life that I fail to fully receive and believe what God has said in His Word. I don’t want to admit that I hate my body.  I workout primarily to keep an image.  After all, my own mother told me that to be fat is to be ugly.   I don’t want to admit that I don’t think I’m beautiful.  I refrain from wearing make-up, primarily because I feel like the whole world only thinks women beautiful if they do (hint of rebellion here).   I don’t admit I’m disabled (I say that I live with a disability, but I don’t let it define me...yeah, not completely true).  That I look down on myself for having something physically wrong with me.  I fight to prove how strong I am, so no one can question my worth.   I don’t admit that I am easily fearful.  I sometimes speak words of faith to help calm the other person down.  Yet, if I was in the same situation, I probably would be freaking out.  I speak these words, because I do want to believe them, myself.   I don’t admit that I have questions for God.  Namely, if His Word says a promise, why doesn’t it happen in my life?  Why does it seem like I have to beg?

      No, I won’t admit all that.  Because a Christian who walks with Jesus for the last 17 years, I need to care for others and their brokenness.  And yet, all this time, I have my own brokenness that I haven’t let Him resolve.  I am prone to anger and unforgiveness when I cannot make a situation right in my own ability or strength.  I loathe myself when I react rashly.  I have abused myself when frustrated.  I know that somewhere God just wants me to lay all these hurts down and let Him love me, but there is a part of my brain that still believes I must show how good I am.  I know what Romans 5:5-6 says.  “Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.  For when we were still without strength, in due time, Christ died for the ungodly.”  When we were without strength, He died for us.

     Notice what I did there.  I said “we”.  I can preach it up good if I put us all in the same bucket.  It’s harder to personalize it, ain’t it?

     “Now hope does not disappoint me, because the love of God has been poured out in my heart by the Holy Spirit who has been given to me.  When I was without strength, He died for me.”  

     It sure hits a different note.  And yet, something inside me compels me to fight against it.  I have to be good enough.  “Let me prove to You all my good actions.”  But I can only love in part, if I have only received in part.  That is what is at odds.  My pride vs. God’s goodness.  I will be damned if I admit that I am weak.

     Actually, I would be saved.  But until this moment, and even now, my conscience is convinced that the former is true.  Everything in my life has built enough evidence to persuade this jury that my worth is dependent on my ability.  I want my glory (even if it’s in the form of evangelizing or witnessing), because I have this desire since childhood to know I’m worth it.  To know that I have an intrinsic value, and not just because the Constitution says so.  The irony about self-esteem is that it literally means “to esteem (respect and admire) oneself”.  The intention is to learn self-respect and value, but sometimes, it can be a little selfish.  And all the while, when I’m focused on wishing people would respect and admire me, dependent on their votes to determine my worth, the more I realize how much I don’t measure up.  

     Ironically, when I focus on Jesus, and truly worship Him - make Him THE focus on my mind - then a natural respect and admiration comes.  Do note: I don’t worship Jesus just to make myself feel better.  If that is the motive, I am still worshipping myself.  But when I do adore God, my confidence is grounded in who He is, rather than fearing who I am not.  I just wish this was the more consistent storyline in my life, at the moment.  That pride - that refusal to admit weakness is the key.  Yes, I could blame all the people and circumstances that helped me believe in the lies, but at some point, I have to own what is in my control.  And I control what I choose to believe.  It kills me inside to ask for help.  It prodds at my fear of worthlessness and not being enough.  But I am sure it killed Abraham, emotionally, when God told him to kill his son.  Abraham still obeyed.

     One Pharisee to another, this morning, I wanted to look at the conversation Nicodemus had with Jesus.  This man had the goods.  I mean, he could prove that he was good enough.  A rabbi, teacher of the Law, and devout follower of Hebrew tradition and worshiper of Adonai, he could prove he was good enough.  And yet, Jesus told him that true salvation came by being born again and trusting in the salvation of an only begotten Son of God who would be lifted up.  Not in his efforts.

     “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.  For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through Him.  He who believes in Him is not condemned; but he who does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.  And this is the condemnation, that the light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than the light, because their deeds were evil.  For everyone practicing evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed.  But he who does the truth comes to the light, that his deeds may be clearly seen, that they have been done in God.”  -John 3:16-21

     I am choosing to go into the light and expose the things which have been hidden for so long.  However, now I must submit to Him all that has been found.  I want to cling to the very thing I think I have to prove my worth, but I know He wants me to let it go.  God. help my heart to live by grace.  Teach me to walk by faith.  Help me to fully receive Your truth and love.  Help me to genuinely believe!

"Dear God", by Cory Asbury 

Tired (COVID and Mental Health)

 To Whom This May Concern:

     I’m tired.  I’m tired of fear.  I’m tired of waiting for things to go back to normal.  I’m tired that for every storm that enters our lives, we shudder in bubbles.  Don’t tell me it’s for my safety.  Don’t tell me it’s just for surviving the next day.  I’m tired of worrying.  I have fought anxiety all my life.  As of this year, by God, I am cutting it loose.  Nevertheless, each number produces a reminder of the remaining threat...I am told to keep hiding...to live another day.

     Stay home.  Stay safe.  We are apart...together.  That is what they say.  For how long can we be bound up in our homes before our homes become cages?  Safety from a biological virus, but other demons ensue.  Violence, addiction, depression linger as we stay apart.  Together.  That’s what matters, though.  How can we be together if we are chained to a reality that we must watch our breath every second?  It doesn’t matter if I’ve stayed home, and you have stayed home...we could get sick if we decide to congregate.  Do bacteria magically appear when none were present before?  I apologize for the sarcasm.  

     Do not judge me as heartless.  I know the threat is real.  Yet the media only speaks of one battle that this Rona has raged.  They speak of distance for the sake of our lungs, but no one is minding that my mind is the thing fighting to breathe.  I’m alone.  Aside from God, I’m on my own.  They tell me, “Call someone; message someone; Zoom someone.”  But they don’t understand.  Wolves eat isolated sheep. They have their families with them.  Could they possibly understand that to hear the voice of a loved one over the line births a longing sick with despair?  Do they know that faces seen through a screen fail to meet the need for touch?  I wish for it so bad.  But when the gift is received and removed once again, I regret the desire at all.  I am tempted to harden my spirit and dull my mind to survive.

     I’m sorry.  I do not mean to make light of the immediate threat.  I know there are those sick and dying.  Yet I’m afraid that our souls are dying more than hearts.  I don’t mean to balk, but I’m ready to stop the sulk.  I’m tired of fear.  I acknowledge life will not be the same, but dagnabit, will we only be secure if it is?  We ask God to take away this virus, but what do we go back to?  Normal?  What normal?  We fear death not just with a pandemic, but for every evening we hear the ambulance.  They are our nightly sirens.  We chase Facebook as headliner news, hoping we don’t find a name we know on a recently deceased list due to a drug or alcohol related situation.  So...if COVID passes, as storms do, what have learned to weather the next that shall come?

     I fear that we have learned to die before we stopped breathing.  Our souls are suffocating.  Survive to live another day.  What is this living where we take each day with each step, and aimlessly hoping for length of days, but without purpose?  What a life!  I want to thrive!!!  Trials come; fear tempts that to flee is to be free. What shall we say; what should we pray?  Even I fail to have the words.  

     But I want to have faith.  Isolation produces a sense of self-centeredness; we have become protective of our own well-being in the name of staying apart together.  Yeah, right… How many people - outside of your family - have you checked on to see if they are okay since this whole thing began?  While we are locked in our homes, do you mind that others are well, or do you attempt to solely care for your own?   I do not point a finger that I have not pointed at myself.  Isolation produces self-reflection and I have had to face my darkest fears of loneliness and rejection.  Stretched to trust in Jesus at a greater depth, yet, the battle waged in my mind revealed trauma I soon wanted to leave forgotten.   

     We cannot exchange one death for another, in the name of living to see another day.  Truth is, how can we enjoy this side of heaven if we have decided to die before breathing our last?  Furthermore, if we only pray that this virus dissipates and leaves existence, I am finding that we train our psyches to only be content when all is right. When storms come, as they often do, our world is not only filled with chaos, but so are our minds, hearts and souls.  I want more than just the normal.  I claim to believe that God is good, no matter what.  And yet, alone in this three-roomed cage...I mean, home...has revealed how I am honestly convinced.  I shudder to think that my new normal would mean I am shut off from the world.  I want more.  I want my soul to be assured that despite what I face, I have courage to fully live.  

Dear God,
    I honestly don’t know how to pray.  And in these times - in this last year - COVID has been on our lips, weighed on our minds, and taxed our souls.  It’s amazing how much damage one thing unseen can cause.  I ask that You would heal our land.  Cease the amount of deaths, and defeat this disease.  That being said, I can’t help but be aware that You rescue not necessarily by removing a threat, but walking through the fire with us.  Trials may refine us - if we learn to trust You.  

     The pandemic has one name, but this year has been defined by many battles.  Physical, biological, social, as well as mental.  Everything on the news says, “If we just found a vaccine, then everything would be okay,” but is that true?  What happens when we are faced with another virus, another war, another disagreement?  Do we just hide in our burrows of houses? Do we polarize and riot, continuing to divide? Do we shudder until it’s over?  We are so afraid.  Fear depletes long enough, and other emotions give way.  

     But can we be okay, whether it is a good day or bad?  Whether it rains or is warm?  Whether it is red at dusk or dawn? Do we know how to walk on the water, or will we sink at the first sight of waves?  God, You ARE good, no matter the day.  You are faithful, no matter the headlines or the posts online.  Yet, our hearts are not convinced.  We say we believe, but how quickly we forget when chaos or demons rear their faces into our consciousness.  We lapse from understanding, because the roots of our foundations are lacking.  

     While we cry out healing for our bodies, God, I ask that You would draw my people to You.  Not for a moment, but for a journey.  As declared in the Bible, may Your miracles point heavenward.  The gifts of Your hands are not to be an end, but an invitation for all to have an eternal relationship with the Father.  Only then can we be sustained whatever the season.  

     You did not save us to merely survive this life.  Yet abundance of life comes by one name, and it is necessary to have faith.

     In the name of Jesus,

Amen

Remind Me

 Your train fills the temple. Angels sing a song; Magnificent creatures Magnify Your name. But whenever I’m with You, You’re so dog-gone familiar. So God, remind me Who You are.

You are Alpha and Omega;

Beginning and the End.

The Faithful One

Who never lets go of my hand.

Creator of all things

And the Father who redeems.

You are Lord of all lords.

King of all kings;

God above all

Who claimed to be gods.

The One and Only

Who knows no time constraints.

You Save me time and again.

You are Majesty who comes near.

You are a Prince dying

A criminal’s punishment.

Heaven’s heir condemned

Stealing hell’s keys,

Making earth’s sons

Beholders of Eternity’s promise.

The Christian Gomer

  

    A woman was in a bedroom, waiting for a customer.  It was clear she was a prostitute.  Based on the landscape outside, her clothing, and the decorations in the room, this was the Old West.  Her bedroom door opened. A man came into the room, hiding his face.  The scene switched to the next morning.  The two in bed.  The customers typically paid for only one hour, but his man was willing to pay everything; go bankrupt to spend the entire night with her.  “Come home with me,” he pleaded.  A heavy, angry knock on the door. “Come on!  Get out ‘a there!  You got your time with her!”  Obviously, the bar tenant - also the pimp in the joint - wanted the man out, so the woman could get back to getting more customers.  “Please...come back home.”  The man was her husband.  While he held her, her face, frozen, was too timid to look him in the eye.

     I had this dream a couple weeks ago.  Something like this just seems too fantastic to mean anything.  I would chock it up to eating something before going to sleep - which in the last couple months has become a new habit.  But in the last year of 2020, much reflection has gone on.  And in the subsequent months, I have found that I am a 30-year-old woman who has realized that I have lost my passion, been stripped of confidence for my profession and wonders where God really is in her life.  

     Sure, I’m a Christian.  A good one, too.  Wink, wink.  Involved in ministry can be an amazing cover for a mediocre faith.  In truth, at home, I easily get distracted with my thoughts and eyes.  I get discouraged by trying circumstances.  I profess the glory of God all the while wishing for my own.  I thought I was good.  But in the year of 2020, I have found that I am not who I thought.  And fear of past failures threaten any hope for a promised future.  Simultaneously seeking my own, despite serving others.

     I am in a transition.  I have poured out so much in my community, but I am finding that my passion has deteriorated.  God is showing that my time here will be entering its winter.  I have forgotten something.  I will bend over backward to serve, and yet, I have failed to love the One for whom I profess salvation’s glory.  Ministry has become just another thing to be involved.  

     I thought about titling this post as “My Pimp, Ministry.”

     Sounds like sacrilege. When I coined the phrase to a friend, it definitely rubbed him the wrong way. But what is more blasphemous is professing that people should desire for Jesus when you fail to do so in your own life.  I have realized that I am guilty of such a sin.  I am Gomer.  My pimp is ministry.  I will do anything for him.  Help serve him.  Encourage him.  Build him up.  I will run to his aid, while denying the promise found at home.  His cries beckon me to return.  Because every conversation I have in the dark, convinces me that  I am bringing light to someone in need.  I am satisfied and justified in standing on the premise that I am where I’m supposed to be.

     Nevertheless, there is a Groom who is waiting for me at home.  I find my pleasure in the many faces I see, but struggle to communicate and have a relationship with the One who paid with His life for me to become His own.  The immediate reward has served me greatly, and I have forgotten my First Love.  I know He wants me to come home.  I know He wants me to linger and live from a relationship with Him.  But I am guilty of just seeking knowledge and wisdom, and never encountering His grace.

     I can do a lot of God-things in life.  But if I forget God Himself, ministry is for nought.  It has become my pimp.  It has become my idol.  My friend asked that maybe work could be my pimp.  (I feel pressed because balancing teaching and doing youth ministry is hard.)  I wonder if he thinks that I should stop working full time and focus on ministry.  However, my perspective on ministry has been changing.  Especially during COVID year of 2020.  There seems to be this unwritten rule that to be a strong, mature Christian, one must be in ministry.  Ministry has been classified as the different programs that meet different groups of people in different ways.  Worship, youth, hospitality, prayer team, small groups; the list can go on and on.  

     But what if ministry is more of meeting with one person and walking through life with them, encouraging them toward Christ?  I have had more of an impact with encouraging friends this summer than I have in three years of youth ministry.  And though immediate fruit cannot be the measure for which we determine if and where we should serve, I admit that much of what I have done in ministry was a selfish desire to know that I could make a difference.  I really want teens to have a relationship with Jesus, but frankly, I failed to let God do the work.  At some point, I pushed for more works and proof that they really wanted Jesus in their lives.  Lastly, and most impacting, I yearned for the affirmation of others, and forgot the love of Jesus.

     There is still something in me that still believes that I must prove myself.  There is still something in me that wants proof that I am good enough.  As long as I am chasing for every opportunity to serve people, secretly hoping they will see my purpose well-done, I will fail to know how much I am already loved.

     I am in a transition.  I am questioning if I want to stay in ministry.  This has nothing to do with what fruit I have seen (or haven’t seen); this has nothing to do with any disagreements I have had in the past with those I’ve done ministry with.  Solely, I want to remember and rest in the love that my Groom has for me.  In eternity, there will no longer be any need of ministry.  The only ministry that will remain is that of worship.  And that ministry is to God, alone.  

     It’s time for Gomer to go home, and rest in her Husband’s embrace...for good.

The Modern Pharisee

 

     I fear many evangelical Christians have become lost.  Not lost unto eternity, but forgotten the way by which they were saved.  Grace.  They have required the lost to become sinless before being welcomed into their arms, and thus, have failed to relay the amazing, majestic and glory of the miracle of the gospel.  The Creator of all mankind came to earth and died to pay the penance of sin.  Three days later, He rose from the dead, conquering sin’s power over the lives of those who believe.

     If we continue calling the lost “idiots” for being a certain political ideology, we will never win them to Jesus.  We focus so much on the outliers, the extreme symptoms of sin that we fail to address the real issues of the soul.  

     Do we know how to sit with someone, eat with them, even if they are in sin?  Do they have to clean up their act before we associate with them?  I am challenged.  I am talking about hanging out with sinners and okaying their sin.  However, in this world, disagreement = hatred, and agreement = support. Out of fear of communicating “cheap grace” (penned by Dietrich Bonhoeffer), we lean toward ‘clean up before receiving God’s love’.  I believe evangelicals have swayed to the far right becoming black and white.  We teach the way of grace that we were saved, but require the masses to prove their goodness before allowing entrance to the altar.

     I don’t think it was intentional, but we have lost our compassion for humanity.  In our desire for people to fully commit to Jesus, and for Christian standards to be elevated in our nation, we stopped showing the heart of God.  We have forgotten to listen.  Perhaps, it is our heart to listen, but our words cut like a knife.  When we post very polarized views that give no room for discussion, we shut down a conversation that could very well lead someone to Christ...If only we had the guts to listen.

     How desperate a woman must be if she believes death is her only hope for an unborn child?  I promise you - many who receive abortions are not psychopathic or heartless.  Would you befriend a gay person and hear their story, grab some lunch and hang out?  Homosexuality is no greater sin than the ones we choose to leave buried in our own closets.  This question on social justice - can we fully explain perspectives for which we never walked in their shoes?

     In this millennium, many people are tired of the American Christian.  The very ways in which Jesus showed God’s heart - it was portrayed in the 1800s.  However, these movements are now not headed by Christians, but atheists.  Humanitarianism is the new Western religion of compassion and the evangelical Christian can only scoff at the blatant sin.

     But all the world is aching for is the grace we profess to have freed our own lives.  

     But we call them stupid.  We call them idiots.  Freeloaders and enablers.  We don’t want to get our hands dirty, yet we will call out the sins that our nation accepts and celebrates.  All while on a pedestal, the very ones who need Christ are left with the idea that God wouldn’t want them anyway.

     After all, why would He?  His own kids don’t want them.  

     We bear the image of God.  If we call ourselves Christian - and an evangelical one at that - how are we evangelizing the name of Jesus?  If we are “little Christs”, Jesus’ ‘mini-me’s”, are we portraying Him accurately?  He never condoned sin, yet, He was willing to befriend and love the sinner.  How can we do the same?
    We have exchanged faith for culture and politics, calling them one and the same.  If someone adheres differently, we immediately jump to the conclusion that they must be the spawn of Satan, himself!  Okay...those who live in sin are considered the children of the devil...but, we once were such at a time in our lives, too.  We have made this fathering an excuse to be disgusted by sinners rather than reaching out to them with the gospel...for which we were saved.  

     Ironically, when Jesus made the “sons of devils” remark, He was talking about the Pharisees (see John 8:37-41).  Religiosity has paved the way for many to continue going to hell, rather than redeeming them.  We are failing to show that only Jesus can save us.  If the way and manner we interact with those who are still living in their sin is that they have to become Christians before we love them in our lives, we are undermining the gospel and expecting the impossible.  Only Jesus can redeem, transform and restore our souls.  Why do we require more?